Batman TAS: Season 5
by Keymaster37
Summary: The Batman cartoon had so much potential, and should have continued airing. So I give to you my continuation of the series. Reconcile with your favorite villains such as: Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, Riddler, Clayface, Rupert Thorne, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Catwoman, and Joker! Witness the premiere of the Black Mask! Read And Review. And most of all, enjoy the story, folks!
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

Disclaimer & A/N: I do not own Batman: The Animated Series, as it belongs to Warner Bros. The series ended after the airing of it's final episode on October 31, 1998, so this episode takes place mid-November of the same year. Enjoy. Read and Review.

A Tale Tell Joke

Deep in the slums of Gotham City, a crowd of mysterious figures collaborate inside the basement of a rundown bar. The one window is cracked to the point that nothing inside is viewable, and the sign is hanging by a thread. In the basement, a single light bulb brightens.

"Much better," the unmistakable, sinister voice remarks brightly. "Good evening, gentlemen. I have, for you all, an _irr_esistible proposition!" The Joker gives them all a wide grin. He gestures towards two muscular, middle aged men, who immediately lifted nine canisters, similar in size to oxygen tanks onto the table next to the Joker.

"I can supply each and every one of you with one million dollars worth of Venom _right now_. Half price. Sell for double. And we all get rich, whatta ya say?" He took a look at each of them, waiting for a response.

"I'll take two mil's wort'." A man in the crowd said with a New Jersey accent. He pushed through the crowd with two largely built men following him thuggishly. One wore a slick, blue jacket and black slacks, and had a toothpick in between his lips. The other wore a green, four pocketed jacket and brown slacks. Both wore identical frowns. The boss was about forty, with graying hair; his face was starting to get wrinkles. The man smoked a cigar, and wore a silky, black tuxedo without the tie.

"_Glad to hear it_," The Joker said, clenching his teeth for fear of shrieking and scaring the man off. "You, of course have the money?"

"Yep," The man's voice was thin, his accent not as thick as before. The other man didn't smile, snapped his fingers and turned away, sliding in between his henchmen, who dropped a single briefcase onto the table and shouldered a single canister and shuffled up the basement stairs.

"_Wonderful_," The Joker said gleefully. "Are there any more takers?" The Joker asked. Five men shuffled forward, each tossing briefcases and rolls of money onto the table as they practically dragged their canisters of Venom away. One of Joker's henchmen whispered into his sleeve and as the last man left, five men came down the stairs lugging more Venom. There were now, again, nine canisters on the table. Three fairly large men took a canister each over their shoulders as one of them slammed a check for one and a half million dollars that looked as though it had been scrawled in earnest.

This continued for five minutes, mostly briefcases were stacked on the table. Six men were left, five henchmen and a Boss. The Boss looked at the Joker apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Joker, but I'm afraid we ain't interested."

While the Joker's eyes had gleamed with every purchase, they gained a dangerous, dark look in them. Though, outside, he looked downcast.

"But _why not_?" He whined, looking truly anguished. One of the henchmen seemed to sneeze into his arm.

"'Scuse me, Joker." The man grunted childishly.

"Not at all, Donnie," The Joker responded, his look of anguish gone, his eyes never left the men across from him. There was a feminine grunt as someone thudded their way noisily down the stairs into the basement. Harley was visible; a large gun was in her grasp, strapped over her shoulder.

"Don't think 'bout it, girlie," The other henchman pressed his gun to her head. The opposing group drew their guns. The traitor maneuvered his way around Harley, his gun leveled at her head.

"Oh, yea'?" Harley said with a dangerous edge in her voice. She squeezed the trigger and the fully automatic artillery gun went off, tearing the man apart and dropping three others behind him before the others began firing their guns. There were a few screams before silence. Harley had jerked her gun from side to side, mowing the men down. There were moans and small yells from the men who were alive, unable to stand from their injuries. Harley stalked predatorily towards the heap of men on the floor and fired into all of them again, screaming angrily in a blind rage until the gun ran out.

She set the gun down in a very ladylike manner before turning toward the Joker, who stood from his prone position against a wall next to a now dead Donnie, who had two bullets in his torso and one just above his right eyebrow. Blood covered all three of them.

"A-Are you alright, Harl'?" He asked tentatively.

"A-Ok, Mistah, J!" She said cheerfully, giving a salute.

"Lovely," He said, looking around. He grabbed Donnie's wrist and spoke in the microphone. "Would all personnel please regroup in the basement, all personnel _please report to the basement_. Over." He dropped Donnie's wrist and looked at the table. He gathered eighteen rolls of money and gave one to every henchman that came down the steps. The Joker dragged Donnie over and into the pile of dead men.

"Alright, fellas, get the stiffs _outta he'ah_!" Harley ordered. "I want this place _stiff and blood free_ within the hour." The men sprinted up the stairs to gather up bed sheets and mops from the bartender. The Joker smiled at Harley.

"Splendid job, Harl'" He exclaimed happily, patting her on the head. She stared at him admiringly, clasping her hands together.

"Thanks, Mistah J!" She chirped. Joker ignored her and gathered up the checks, stuffed them into his pocket, and snatched up four briefcases, two under each arm. Harley followed suit, holding two under each arm and hooking three fingers each around another two cases and grunted the entire way up with no help from the Joker.

_**Wayne Manor, Gotham City **_

"Bruuuuuuce!"

"What, Tim?" Bruce thundered up the stair towards Tim Drake's room. His face remained a mask of neutrality as he caught sight of the hurricane attack of Tim's room. Tim was hanging upside down from the ceiling fan. Bruce gave an amused look.

"_No_." Tim replied indignantly, crossing his arms across his chest. "Did you read the paper," He pointed to a discarded newspaper on the ground. "Bane had an overdose, but his place was empty. Not a single _drop _of Venom!"

"What do you think happened?" Bruce asked, his eyes narrowed. Had Bane been robbed?

"The Knightbreed," Tim said gravely. Bruce frowned.

The Knightbreed were a radical vigilante group that had been inspired by Batman. They wore navy blue cowls similar to his, navy blue trench coats with black shirts underneath, black pants, and dark brown army boots. They all armed themselves with daggers, handguns and semi-automatics. They made Bruce seriously wish he had not become Batman. In the past month, thirteen had been killed due to shootouts involving the Knightbreed. Bane very well could have been attacked by the Knightbreed, but not robbed. They were still vigilantes, no matter how extreme.

"No, Tim," Bruce said. "Another criminal is at work here." He looked deep in thought. Two-Face was recently incarcerated. Mr. Freeze had given up crime recently. The Riddler was put in a mental institution. The Joker had a truce with Bane. But-

"Penguin?" Tim offered, voicing Bruce's thoughts. Tim dropped into a prone position onto the clothes-littered floor. He shook his head to get his head together and stretched his arms briefly.

"Just might be, Tim," Bruce said, exiting the room. "Just might be." He closed the door behind him, leaving Tim on the floor, continuing to read the newspaper.

**The Batcave. 11:07 p.m **

Bruce, now fully clothed in his Batman garb with his cowl pulled down, typed away at the Bat-Computer. Alfred, ever faithful, stood behind him with a wine glass of orange juice. He was clothed in his usual tuxedo. He wore white gloves and was absentmindedly dusting the glass of the costume cabinet six feet away.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred inquired stepping towards Batman, offering the glass. Batman took it, downed it, and put it back on the platter.

"Thanks, Alfred," Batman said, typing with a determined look on his face.

"What exactly, _pray tell_, are you investigating this time?"

"Bane's overdose," Batman said quickly. "Foul play's suspected. Got to get to the bottom of it." Alfred rolled his eyes and strolled away. Batman stared at the screen. He had gotten through into the Justice League space vision camera satellites. He rewinded and watched various colorful, clown-like thugs assassinate drivers and steal trucks full of Venom. Batman growled.

On the screen, he zoomed in to see Harley Quinn sneak through the side window with a needle that had an extremely large scale and barrel. The needle was empty when she left the building and handed it to a henchman wearing a pink jacket, green pants, and clown make-up. She got in the passenger seat of one of the trucks and they departed.

"Joker," Batman hissed angrily, getting up from the computer and jumping into the Batmobile.

Inside the Batmobile, Bruce video called Nightwing, it patched in fuzzy, and his voice wasn't very clear.

"Bruce...Bruce, what is it?"

"Dick, where are you?"

"Across-Atlantic Ocean. Just finished fighti- Deathstroke in Britain- Fell off Big Ben."

"Are you ok?"

"What's wrong, Bruce?" Nightwing's voice was clearer than before.

"Harley Quinn's killed Bane. She's given all the Venom to Joker."

"I'm on my way," said Nightwing. "We have to stop the distribution."

"I know that," Batman said evenly. "The satellites caught them in a bar in Gotham, and then an abandoned warehouse in Bludhaven. 89th Street. The trucks are right outside." Nightwing became inaudible as he maxed the speed his Wing-Jet could go. Nightwing disconnected the call and Batman went up to ninety-five miles per hour. Then one hundred. Then one twenty. It finally settled on one hundred and thirty miles per hour. He was there in six minutes. Batman parked the Batmobile a few streets away, scaled one of the houses and jumped from roof to roof. He landed on the roof as stealthily as he could. It creaked and groaned with every step. He used a batarang to saw away a portion of the roof. It was so dark out that no light shone through the hole he created.

"Rich! Rich!" screamed Joker as he threw handfuls of money in the air.

""How much, Mistah J?" asked Harley, who was jumping up and down excitedly. The Joker replied proudly,

"Sixty million!" All twenty people in the room cheered loudly. The Joker went rigid. "What the _hell _are you four doing in _here_?!" He screamed angrily at the four men just inside the room.

"We was-"One man started stupidly but was interrupted by the Joker.

"_You're supposed to be guarding the merchandise, not laughing like a buffoon!" _yelled the Joker at the top of his lungs as he swung a knife, slashing it across the man's cheek.

"GO!" The men rushed out the door. "And _you_," he hissed, rounding on Harley. "Keep them in line! Move!" Harley scurried away, grabbing a plank of wood on her way out. The Joker sighed, slumping down; he looked at the fifteen men dressed in clown attire.

"Need anything, boss?" a red haired man asked. He sounded younger than the rest.

"Competent help," grumbled Joker. He tossed a bill at the man. "Go get me a-"

There was an audible scream outside.

"Mistah J," screamed Harley from outside. "There's some nut out here- AHHHH!" Harley screamed as an electric noise sounded.

"God dammit," the Joker groaned. "You six, go fix the problem." He gestured to the six men armed with shotguns and daggers. They nodded and sprinted outside. Gunfire sounded and more screams were heard. Batman vaulted down and onto the round table with playing cards stacked neatly in the center. They scattered as he landed on the table and lunged at Joker.

"You think you can ruin people's lives without consequence," Batman said kneeing the Joker in the stomach and hurling him into the wall. "You're wrong!"

Batman flung batarang after batarang that tied up the henchmen. Three of them dodged and fired off bullets that merely grazed his arms and legs. He grabbed the nearest one and flung him into his comrade. He kicked the other in the stomach and punched him in the face as he began his arch of descent. The Joker flung his knife at Batman. It flew past him, making Batman believe he had missed. He heard a grunt of pain and whirled around to see Nightwing fall to the ground with a knife four inches away from his sternum.

"Nightwing!" yelled Batman. Joker laughed hysterically, flailing around wildly. He stood, a brick in one hand, he smashed it against the side of Batman's head. Batman staggered as blood ran down his head and nearly bled through his cowl. He whirled around and high kicked Joker in the moth. He gave a cry, dropped the brick onto one of his henchmen and wobbled around. Batman swung his fist into the Joker's jaw, which gave an audible crack, and shoved him back against the wall. Blood ran down the Joker's mouth as he stumbled down to the floor.

"Ugh," Joker groaned. Batman ran over to Nightwing. He helped Nightwing up. Nightwing gritted his teeth irritably.

"I'm fine," Nightwing growled. He pulled the knife out, tossed it away, and left with the physical aid of Batman. Batman helped put Nightwing in the Batmobile.

"Here," Batman said as he closed the door.

"No…" Nightwing moaned. "Bike…"

"It's not safe." replied Batman as he hopped in and began to drive. He used one of the cellular phones a henchman had on him, dialed 911, and let it ring before tossing it near the warehouse. The Joker had to be behind bars as soon as possible.

TO BE CONTINUED…

**_A/N: _This is not the last we see of the Joker. And this will never ever be a one-shot. Leave a review, tell me what you think, and continue reading. **


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 **

A QUESTIONABLE TERROR

_**East Side of Gotham City, November 23**__**rd**__**, 1998**_

A five story bank, Marquis Bank, protruded smoke from its top windows as a screaming civilian dove from the door only to hit the ground dead as a gunshot thundered into the night. The man's throat gushed blood that formed a puddle around him and flowed from across the sidewalk. His blond hair became red with his own blood, as he lay, spread eagle in the street. Inside the bank, everyone was screaming until Scarecrow fires three rounds into a clerk. The man gasps for air and stumbles back as the bullets pierce his chest, his baby blue shirt becoming soaked with blood, the man falls back and out of sight behind the counter.

"You wanna die?" Scarecrow rasped to the crowd. They all gave tearful negatives, trying to plead with him. The Scarecrow turned toward the open safe. "How's it coming along in there?" He yelled. There was a muffled response as police cars screeched in front of the bank, their sirens squealing loudly.

"YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS!" Newly appointed Chief O'Hara bellowed into a megaphone.

"Piss off, O'Hara!" Scarecrow roared back. "Eddie?!"

"It's open!" The Riddler yelled, running into the room with two bags full of money in each hand. A single shot rang out, missing the Riddler by an inch and hitting a thinly built man in a tuxedo in the shoulder. He screamed, holding his shoulder.

"Shut up!" Scarecrow hissed, shooting the man in the mouth. He slumped to the floor, gurgling as he choked on his own blood, which dribbled from his mouth and down the side of his face. The Riddler violently stomped on his face, shattering plenty of his teeth.

"Calm yourself, dammit!" Riddler exclaimed. He dropped his bags and wound the pin on his backpack, tossing it into the crowd of policemen, who rushed away only to be blown into the sky and land twelve meters away. Most died, while others were put in body casts for months. The cars were blown apart in an inferno, piling on top of each other and landing on a few of the officers. Only O'Hara and three other officers were unharmed.

"Christ," Scarecrow spat, smashing in a side window. "Come on!" The Riddler cackled and jumped out after him. He flung a grenade behind him as he hopped from the edge of the window. It hit the counter, landing in the lap of an elderly man. He screamed, bolting up, but as he took his first step in an attempt to flee, the grenade exploded, shattering his legs and launching him head first into the ceiling with a sickening crunch. The others were scattered across the floor. The single survivor had snapped his arm nearly in half and shattered his jaw. He was rushed to the emergency room, but had suffocated long before he arrived. Jammed into his throat was a paper, crumpled into a ball.

_**Underground Sewers In New York**_

Two figures, covered in blood, ran through the murky water of the sewers. Stench filled their nostrils as they trekked forward. As anxiety dug deeper into their hearts, they broke into a run, splashing through the disgusting, murky waste. The dark duo turned into a tunnel, panting and wheezing as they practically tasted the human waste they waded through. They rushed through a water fall of waste, falling into yet another river. They climbed a jagged wall and lifted up a manhole. The man pushed it away and took deep breaths of fresh air. Two days in a foul sewer had really messed with him. He crawled out of the hole and lay on his back in the middle of the road. His cohort tossed up three bags before shouldering the last one and climbing up to the road. They panted there for three minutes before standing, one dove in front of a 1995 mid-sized Honda Accord. He grunted, hitting the ground.

"Holy shit, man," The owner, a Korean-American man dressed in a maroon sweater and brown slacks, exclaimed as he attempted to help the man up. "I am so, so sorry, sir! Here, I can-"The man was cut off as the fallen man's friend came up behind him and jerked his head back, snapping his neck.

"We'll take your keys, your wallet and whatever's in 'em!' The Scarecrow said, chuckling. He roughly searched his pockets, taking his wallet, and shoved him into a ditch.

"You killed him!" The Riddler said, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"Just get in the car," The Scarecrow sighed, getting into the driver's seat.

"Shotgun!" The Riddler groaned weakly, giggling as he pulled himself into the passenger seat. They rolled along the road cutting through the alleys.

"This guy in Star City's reliable, right?" The Scarecrow asked, turning to his green clothed accomplice.

"Yeah," Riddler said, exasperated. "I've told you eight times, already." He crossed his arms and put his feet on the dashboard, a frown evident on his face. He put his tattered hat over his face. "Light," Scarecrow ducked down, knowing full well how traffic lights were used to get the best criminals turned into inmates. They crossed through Adam Heights.

"Right, ninth garage to the left," Riddler said, his hat still over his face. The Scarecrow swerved right and backed into the garage.

"Its got blue walls, and hand prints everywhere, right?" The Scarecrow asked.

"Yeah," The Riddler said, his voice still muffled under his hat.

"Out of the car!" A voce bellowed from behind them. The Scarecrow banged his head on the wheel. "Now!" They got out of the car.

"It's me, Eddie," The Riddler said, acting much laid back. The other man wore a dark red helmet, the eye shield was tinted. He wore zipped up leather jacked, worn out jeans and blood splattered leather boots. He lowered the M4 carbine assault rifle in his hands.

"Took a dip in the sewers, eh?" The man's sneer was evident in his voice.

"Yes." The Riddler said. The leather clad man tossed them each a new costume identical to their own, along with a bottle of shampoo.

"The hose is out back," He said before going back into the house. It took them twenty five minutes to shower and dress. Riddler had a large cut on his face from the glass of the bank's window and he had to pick pieces of the road out of his face. The Scarecrow had cuts all over his hands from crawling up the wall in the sewers.

"Who is this guy?" Scarecrow murmured to the Riddler as they stepped into the house, clothed in fresh costumes. They closed the door behind them. The house in itself was very tidy with four hallways and a staircase to the upper level of the house.

"The new Red Hood," The Riddler said simply as he lounged on the couch.

"Red Hood?" The Scarecrow said.

"He's fairly recent," The Riddler said. "He hates Batman so much he set up a sort of underground railroad for villains, cleans them up and gives them a car."

"That's it?"

"We'll get where we're going."

"Who the fuck is he, though? What's his gain in helping us, other than being charged for helping a wanted felon?"

"A good word on the street," A young voice said behind them. He led them through a door and into his basement. Six walls. Pistols, rifles, semis, fully automatics, rocket launchers, and explosives. "Fifty bucks for a '96 python. Ammo and silencer included. Only used twice. Cleaned it yesterday." He tossed the Scarecrow a box. The handgun inside gleamed, freshly polished. It was fully loaded. The Riddler paid him a grand and took two sawed off shotguns from the table in front of the shotgun wall.

"Excellent choice," Red Hood said, nodding as he put the bills in his pocket. "I'll trade you the Honda for a brand new Jaguar," He tossed the keys up, catching them. He was the walking epitome of charisma.

"Sure," The Scarecrow said, tossing the keys forward. Red Hood tossed the Jaguar keys as well, catching the Honda keys and putting them in his pocket. He turned to open the door for them as they left.

"Good doin' business with you," He said as they opened the door to the garage, slamming it behind them.

"And the reign of terror has _begun_!" The Riddler cackled as he hopped into their new car. He opened the rather large bag they had stuffed their loot into. "Three _million_." He said with relish.

"This'll get us the power to show Galante we mean _business_," The Scarecrow said, chuckling darkly. They dissolved into shrieks of laughter as they passed the Gotham Border.

_**Gotham City Emergency Room**_

Batman stood at the dead man's bed. He was being held here until the funeral was arranged. The paper was the notorious clue the Riddler had stuffed down the man's throat. Killed, just to send a message.

Batman,

Blood is always and forever followed by blood. Hate is infinite. But warm feelings dwindle. The blood is one piece of the puzzle and will be followed by pestilence at the heart of Black Death.

Batman narrowed his eyes, and with a sweep of his cape, was gone.

_**Batcave, November 25**__**th**__**, 1998**_

"The Black Death," Batman mused. His cowl was off as he turned to the ever present Alfred. "Your thoughts, Alfred?"

"The Black Death is also identified as the Bubonic Plague, which began from the fleas on sewer rats. Very deadly, sir."

"The sewers," Batman said, grinding his teeth. "Get Tim, Alfred, I'll hack into the traffic cameras," Alfred nodded and walked out of the Batcave to Tim Drake's room. Batman typed away, hacking the security system with ease and watched cars in the distance explode and bodies hit the pavement. He watched two blood covered individuals sprint away, towards the camera, and converse. Batman read their lips.

_My car, where is it?! _Scarecrow ripped at his hat in frustration. 

_It's in the rubble, Scarecrow. _Riddler gestured to the fiery cars.

_How do we escape, then, imbecile?! _He shoved Riddler to the ground and yelled animatedly as he aimed a kick at Riddler's face.

_The sewers! _The Riddler jerked the manhole out of its place and hopped into the ground. The Scarecrow slid down, wincing as the stench hit him dead on. They slid the manhole back into place.

Batman slammed his fists on the keyboard, withholding a scream of frustration. They were gone! Anger made him see red. Those innocents would _not _be left un-avenged. The orphaned children would get their justice, hopefully finding solace in the fact that the man would never see the bright of day again. He would not fail them, not again.

Tim swung down, flipping in the air as he did so, in his full Robin uniform. He watched the cameras play and replay as cars blew up and officers of the law, sitting ducks, were blown into the air, engulfed in fire.

"This is the massacre, right?" Thirty eight were found dead in the bank, while nine officers had died in the explosion. Batman stood, seething in anger. The criminals in Gotham City had grown morbid. Blood thirsty. Sadistic. Evil. They would need to use more extreme measures to take them down. Batman was not a killer, but he had been holding back on the scumbags that diseased the city. No more…

"Yes, Tim," Batman replied, pulling his cowl on. "And we're going to bring those murderers to justice."

"Once and for all!" Tim shouted as he sprinted after Batman towards the Batmobile. They sped of with a SCREEEECH!

_**The Streets of Gotham City, East Side **_

The Riddler laughed as he poured gallons of gasoline around _The Galante Hotel_. The building had thirteen floors. Ten were all rooms. One was the resteraunt and kitchen, one was the lounge and one was the lobby, work out room, and staff meeting room. He splashed some on the lower walls and kicked through the window, shattering the glass, and used another gallon to splash more all over the marble floor of the lobby. He dumped more over the manager's desk and the plants next to the door. He ran out the door, kicking his gasoline covered shoes off as he got to the Jaguar, and hopped into the passenger seat. Scarecrow lit a match and tossed onto the pavement, igniting the gasoline.

Flames slithered around and up the walls, forming a large barrier around the broken window. The flames inside the hotel rose, spreading up the walls to the ceiling. Smoke protruded from the flames, gushing out the window and appeared visible behind the unbroken window. A small, explosive sound was heard as a man screamed in terror. The ceiling of the first floor caved in, taking the people working out on the second floor with it. The smoke traveled through the vents, waking many visitors. They coughed and spluttered as the flames lurched towards the floor beneath them. Within the hour, the hotel was reduced to ash and rubble. The only survivors were two men who had the courage to dive from their third story window and hit the roof of an SUV. This shattered one's ribcage and broke the other's neck. They lived the rest of their lives in misery.

The villains drove off; their vendetta against the Galante Crime Family had begun. Both Scarecrow and Riddler had been in their employ, only to be left to rot in Arkham. Jack Galante had given them codes and instructions to go to the Wayne Industries building and burn down the technology center, cutting off most of Gotham from the rest of the world. They got into the technology center, set the fire, and left the building in handcuffs. They were told they would never see the outside of the asylum until they had decayed and been reduced to bone. Junior Galante, Boss of the Galante Family, would die. 

They drove off to find their new employer. A fat man by the name of Tobias Whale.

_**The Nightly Streets of Gotham City**_

The Dynamic Duo used their bat-ropes to zip line from one building to another with ease. The new rope was virtually unbreakable; that they doubted even Bane could break through it. They watched the ambulances speed down the road towards the rubble of a hotel.

"You said they were in the sewers, Batman!" Robin grumbled.

"I know," Batman replied edgily. "This wasn't part of the plan,"

"How do you know?" Robin asked. He perched himself on the edge of the building, firing the bat-rope into the wall of an apartment building, two stories taller than the building he sat on.

"There isn't a clue," Batman said. "And he hates it just as much as we do." They swung down and around to the next street over and dropped to the ground.

"O'Hara," Batman called. "What's the situation?" The police chief turned to the duo. His face was red, his jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists.

"Those fucking lunatics is what happened!" O'Hara roared. "Sent the _whole thing _to _hell_!" The police chief stormed off, and screamed at a group of officers that had stopped searching through the rubble.

"What's _his _problem?" Robin huffed, crossing his arms. Batman's face faltered. He had truly failed these people. Wasn't it his job to protect the defenseless? To round up the evildoers and make them pay for their crimes? These people, every man, woman and child, their blood were on _his _hands. He could have done something! _Should _have done something…

"I couldn't say, Robin," He said softly. "I couldn't say…" He swept his cape and walked away, bowing his head. Robin looked on, confused.

_**The Galante Crime Family HQ**_

Pasquale Galante, Jr. sat calmly at his desk while his top capo, Silvio Buonarroti, relayed to him the damages from the hotel. Vincenzo Galante, Junior's son and underboss, leaned against the wall, next to the door of the office.

"That's fifty grand, Padre," He said, his voice overpowering that of Buonarroti's. He wore a clean, blue suit with a black tie and black shoes. His father, however, had his jacket draped over the chair and wore a simple white, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

"I know that, boy," He growled. "Now, who destroyed my beautiful hotel?" He looked expectantly at Silvio, a cigar hanging from his lips. He swiftly tore it from his mouth and tossed it into the wall. "_Answer me!_" He hissed. Silvo squirmed.

"We believe it was-uh the Riddler- Eddie Nigma," He stuttered under Junior's glowering stare. "With gasoline sir." Junior exhaled and exasperated huff.

"That small time fuck's rottin' in the can, Silvio!" He said, wheezing lightly. "You're cracking up, I swear," He leaned back, straining the chair back.

"He got out with Crane the other week," Silvio said. He glanced down at the desk. "Robbed a bank; killed all those cops, remember?" Junior rubbed his eyes.

"You kiddin' me- they're fuckin' _losers_," He said, a grin pulling at his lips. "They get pinched every week, c'mon!" He looked out the window to his right, rocking lightly.

"Wha'da we do, boss?" Silvio said, almost begging him for the answer. Junior made another exasperated noise.

"Just whack 'em, Sil," Junior didn't look from the window as a 1988 Cadillac Eldorado parked at the edge of the street. "Whack 'em both, and don't screw it up," Vincenzo spoke up as Silvio headed towards the door.

"Have Johnny Jingle make his bones with 'em," He said, nodding as Silvio left. The door closed lightly.

"Another problem solved, eh, Vinny?" Junior chuckled. Vincenzo didn't chuckle as he lit a Marlboro cigarette and took a drag.

"Not if Jingle gets the jitters again," He said. Junior shrugged, a nonchalant look on his friends.

"It's his last chance, he knows that," He stood up and walked to the wall. "Go home, son," Vicenzo nodded again and pulled the door open and left. Junior watched through the window as his son yanked a middle aged man from the 1988 Cadillac Eldorado. He pushed the man into the street and got into the car, speeding off.


End file.
